Getting By
by Pisces
Summary: Making money as a mercenary in a time of peace can be hard. And unfortunately for Star Fox, they need a lot of it.


_**Getting By**_

_Summary: Making money as a mercenary in a time of peace can be hard. And unfortunately for Star Fox, they need a lot of it.  
__Rating: K+  
__Disclaimer: ©, Nintendo.  
__Chapter Name: Fuel Cores  
__More Notes: Takes place some time after Andross is defeated, but before Star Fox Adventures._

"So, how's the finances looking for the month?" Fox leaned his forearms against the back of a spare chair, eying the scattered papers and PDAs that cluttered up the large common room table.

Peppy sighed, removing his small, wireframe glasses to rub gently at the bridge of his nose. "I hope you're not too attached to food."

Fox mimed a wince. "That bad, huh?"

"Well," The elder hare carefully replaced his glasses. "It's about time we replaced our fuel cores."

"Oh." This time, the wince was real.

"Oh, indeed. We were able to stretch a year's worth to half that again, thanks to some creative thinking on Slippy's part, but we can't rightly put it off anymore, lest we find ourselves dead in the proverbial water."

"What about the funds set aside specifically for this purpose?"

Peppy swept up a seemingly random stack of papers. "We dipped into it a while back to restock ammunition stores. Now we're a bit... short."

"Ah." The one syllable was heavy and spoke volumes. Fox shifted a bit, standing up straighter. The chair, bereft of his weight, slowly swiveled sideways. "Is there going to be a... problem?"

"No." Peppy's first response was forceful, automatic. "...No." The second, thoughtful. "We can divert some money from living expenses. And, though Slippy might complain, we'll have to hold off on the maintenance to the Arwings. Things will just be- tight."

Fox nodded slowly. "Sounds like a plan."

"I've already asked ROB to set in a course for Corneria. I saw no reason to wait and we're close by anyway... if that's alright with you?"

"That's fine." Then Fox smiled, and Peppy smiled back, wearily. "Let me know if there might be anymore complications, yeah?"

"Of course, Fox." The graying hare glared at the papers in his hand, before tossing them on a vaguely clean spot on the table.

Fox's smile grew fond. "And take a break. You look stressed."

Peppy picked up the closest PDA and fidgeted with it's touchscreen. "Of course. In a few minutes."

"That's an order." Fox teased.

Peppy paused, ducking his head and chuckling with self-reproach. "Am I that obvious?"

"I've known you since I was _eight_."

"Alright, alright. Twenty more minutes."

Fox cocked an eyebrow.

"Okay! _Ten_ minutes, and if I'm not out by then, I give you permission to drag me out by my ears."

"It's a deal." The young vulpine tapped the back of the empty chair and took a step backwards, hands stuffed into his pockets. "Ten minutes, Peppy. Take care of yourself."

Peppy laughed, making 'shooing' motions with his free hand. "I will, Fox. Now, git. I have work to do."

Fox threw his friend one last crooked grin before turning on his heel and exiting out into the hallway, the common room door sliding shut behind him. He turned left, and straight into the waiting forms of Falco Lombardi and Slippy Toad.

"So?" Falco demanded, impatient.

Fox continued on down the hall, the two other Star Fox members falling into step with him, Falco on his left, Slippy, the right. "You were right, Slippy. It's that time of year again."

"I _knew_ it."

Fox smiled absently. "Fuel cores aren't cheap, especially ones the Great Fox needs. So things are going to be a bit, ah, tight for a while. As I'm sure you both overheard."

The two nodded in unison.

"So!" Fox clapped his hands, coming to a sudden stop at a crossway, and after a few more steps, so did the other two. "Slippy, I want you to take Falco and hit up the junkyards when we land on Corneria. Go to the ones closest to the military bases. See if you can find anything usable off of the junked Arwings. Shop cheap. I'm only giving you 15,000 credits and I would prefer if you didn't even spend all of that."

"Gotcha, Fox." Slippy snapped off a mock salute, then walked off down the hall on the right, towards the elevator and ultimately, the Great Fox's Arwing filled hanger.

Once the toad's stout form was out of view, Fox sighed, messaging his temples with one hand. "Shit."

Falco shuffled his weight a bit with a barely audible ruffle of clothing and feathers. "How tight is- tight?" The avian's tone was soft.

"Very tight." Fox's mouth cut a grim line across his muzzle. "We need a big job, soon. Hell, _any_ job."

"Huh." Falco leaned back on his heels, looking thoughtful. Fox glanced at him out the corner of his eye. "Didn't much care for three meals a day. Seemed a bit, excessive, if you ask me."

Fox's smile was tired, but genuine. "Thanks, Falco."

"For what? I'm doing myself a favor. The food you buy is complete shit."

"How would you know? You eat like a bird."

Falco's expression clearly said 'duh', even if he didn't actually speak it aloud. He easily ducked the playful punch thrown at his shoulder, and darted down the left corridor, towards the bridge and opposite the direction Slippy had taken. His lanky frame disappeared around a bend, laughter trailing behind him.

Fox was left standing alone in the middle of the crossway. He was silent for a long minute, head bowed. With a mental shake of his head, he turned back down the way he came, to inevitably drag Peppy away from work, if only temporarily.

--

"Trade lane coming up, guys. Get ready to merge."

At the sound of Falco's voice over the intercom, Fox rose from where he had been lost in the depths of his now cold coffee mug. Across the room, he absently noted Peppy stopping in the middle of his paperwork, stylus dropping in favor for the sight outside the large viewing window in the Great Fox's common room. Even Slippy looked up from his laptop.

Merging mid-route with a trade lane was potentially dangerous. Behemoth cargo haulers and small personal carriers alike flashed by faster then organic reflexes could keep up with, and it was only by monitoring the trade lane logs for a gap large enough to slip into that it was even possible. Even then, most considered it much too dangerous and, well, stupid a risk. It took a precise timing and control that most didn't possess, as well as working in close tandem with the onboard computer.

But Falco was undeniably brilliant at what he did – pilot – and everything that came along with that. Fox trusted his life, as well as his ridiculously expensive cruiser, in Falco's hands.

That didn't mean he couldn't feel a tad nervous with every merge.

The stars outside the window sped up, noticeable only because of his close scrutiny, until they felt fundamentally different from their usual cruising speed. They passed by a trade ring with deceptive slowness, its larger-then-life size filling and claiming the view before receding out of sight. The stars sped up even more, and-

Something _large_ flashed by, almost too fast to even acknowledge, gone before the brain caught up. From somewhere behind him, Fox heard Slippy gasp faintly. Fox reached out and steadied himself with a hand upon the chilly glass, feeling a deep rumble in his chest. Imaginary of not, it didn't really matter.

Another trade ring was coming up, much faster then the last. Another large – thing – flashed by, and then the world outside the window angled, the trade ring disappearing and _this is the merge itself_ Fox's mind was telling him, and then the inside circumference of the gigantic ring was there and gone. The stars flashed, then streaked away.

The merge was complete. Their passage through and onto the trade lane was marked, logged and tracked within the Intersystem Trading Company's navigation computer.

"Alright, we're in. It'll be smooth sailing all the way to Corneria." There was a pause, the slight hiss from the ceiling speaker indicating the comm was still open. "Sorry for the close neighbors, Foxie, lane's kinda packed today."

Fox let his hand fall away from the window. "I'm going to kill him."

"Not unless I get to him first." Peppy collapsed back into his chair. "I think that boy just gave me a few more gray hairs."

Slippy's strangled bark of laughter drained the last of the tension in the room.

--

Fox didn't kill Falco that day, despite his threats otherwise, and within a few short hours of trade lane enhanced and powered speed, the Great Fox's arrival to Corneria was imminent.

Shrugging his signature Star Fox jacket higher on his shoulders, Fox waited for the set of double doors to sense his presence and slide open, before stepping onto the bridge. In the relative quiet, over the omnipresent hum of life support and artificial gravity, a tinny fast pace beat filled the large room.

Rotating chairs, all empty except for one, sat bolted in front of automatically run consoles. Falco's rangy form lounged in one of two chairs at the head of the room, booted feet propped up on the console in front of him and the bright blue shock of his scruffy feathered crest peeking up above the back of the chair. His head bobbed in time with the indistinct music.

Fox grinned, strode up behind his unawares friend, not even having to try and mask the sound of his footsteps, and smacked him upside the back of his head.

Falco squawked, flailed about, before finally yanking the earphones out of his ears, glaring death at the now nearly hysterical Fox McCloud.

Fox claimed the seat at the avian's side, wiping tears from his eyes. Grudgingly, Falco settled back in his own chair, feet taking their place on the console once more.

The tawny vulpine leaned his elbows on his knees, swiveling his chair about to better face his disgruntled friend. "Shouldn't you be working? What do I pay you for?"

"My winning personality." Falco groused out. "Besides, I _am_ working. I'm running a diagnostic on the Great Fox's systems for Slippy to see if there are any problems that we won't be able to afford to fix." As if on cue, the central console beeped loudly. Falco leaned forward slightly, long arm outstretched, and tapped a few buttons.

The large viewing screen, filled with streaking stars and trade rings, was overlaid with a list of figures and numbers. Falco scrolled through it slowly, tsk'ing under his breath. A few more taps closed the superimposed window, and Falco leaned back, grabbing the PDA laying haphazardly in his lap. He scrawled a short few words down, before letting the thing fall back into his lap.

"What was that?" Fox asked, curious. It _was_ his ship, after all.

"Air purification system is only working at 81 percent efficiency. Nothing critical, but still..." Falco shrugged. "I'll let Slippy know."

"Hrmn..." Fox spun his chair to the right. "ROB? How much longer till we reach Corneria?"

The hereto silent AI's metallic body stirred in its recharging corner, head cocking to the side. "Estimated time of arrival to the Ceres Trade Station is approximately 3.47 minutes, Master Fox. Impending any complications gaining clearance, we should be on the surface of Corneria within the hour."

"Good, good..." Fox swung his chair forward absently, watching Lylat pass by.

The two friends sat in companionable silence, Fox preoccupied with unshared thoughts while Falco continued to jot down small notes for Slippy's later perusal. A chirp, different from the previous, had Falco kicking his feet down and sitting proper.

"We'll be exiting the trade lane in thirty seconds. ROB, mind if I take over for a little while?"

"Of course not, Master Falco. Switching to manual in three... two... one."

The transfer was made with nary a bump.

Flying the Great Fox was very different then flying something like an Arwing, the most prominent difference being the lack of yoke. All was run by touch sensitive controls, which allowed for mathematical precision, but made it difficult for the split-second instinctual feel of a fighter craft. Fox knew just enough to get by if the need ever arose, as did both Peppy and Slippy, but Falco had shown an aptitude that usually only the analytical or highly trained possessed. While with ROB no Lylatian technically ever had to, Falco seemed to genuinely enjoy piloting the Great Fox, and Fox saw no reason not to let him. At the very least it kept him occupied, which was always a good thing. A bored Falco was a cranky and, quite likely, a bitchy Falco.

Fox watched with an odd sort of pride he would never under the pain of torture admit to aloud. As the Great Fox gradually slowed and finally burst free from the last trade ring, Falco didn't hesitate to pull up and away, long fingers dancing nimbly across the controls. He navigated through the busily moving cloud of space craft with familiar ease, the hulking and brightly illuminated space station the center of activity. Chatter filled the local radio channels, piped in through the bridge's speakers.

"Olympian_-class cargo hauler Kiplerman, permission to join cue number five seven..."_

"_...Matty! Damn, girl, how have you been? Still not settling..."_

Society circulated around them, and they were a part of it.

Smaller crafter zipped by, moving out of the way or around the large, sleek cruiser.

"_...are you sure you don't want to wait for..."_

And in turn, Falco carefully circumvented cargo carriers, giving the cumbersome boats a wide berth and plenty of maneuvering room. He angled left past one in particular, and the world continued it's lazy spin before eventually righting itself just as they pasted the cargo hauler's tail end.

Fox tried to repress his grin, the corner of his eyes crinkled. "Did you just barrel roll my battle cruiser?"

"_...still got at _least_ two more days..."_

Falco didn't bother to glance in Fox's direction, sounding self-assured and nonchalant. "Only in comparison to this system's universal axis."

"_...Happy birthday!"_

After a few minutes of casual flying, the Great Fox was past the station and joined the stream of ships heading on towards the bright blue and green disc floating majestically in the black – Corneria.


End file.
